WEEK 62: Mom and boy next door

Trace staggers forward, flattening my spine against the wall, and leans away to look at me.

Beautiful.

I can hardly see but I know he’s beautiful. His thumb sweeps across my lashes as a heavy sob breaks from my chest, fragmenting the words, “You s-scared me.”

The beautiful man gently wipes my cheeks, one at a time. Then smirks and taps the tip of my nose.

Stupid thing always turns red when I cry. Which rarely happens. “Don’t be a jerk,” I sniffle.

His smirk widens into a grin, exposing a flash of teeth and wires.

And damned if I don’t smile back. “I hate you.”

He raises a blonde brow.

The simple motion pulls every stitch within a two-inch radius. It makes me cringe. I cave immediately, “Almost as much as I love you.”

With a satisfied grunt, he hikes me higher and spins to stumble a few uneven steps before collapsing onto the bed.

I hear someone suck in air. Pretty sure it’s Tech.

“Shit,” Twitch grumbles. “Don’t tell me you broke your wrist.”

“No, I think it’s fine.”

“Think?”

“It’s fine,” Tech’s grumbling too. “Just sore.”

His brother isn’t convinced. “Maybe you should have it checked out.”

“Maybe you should quit being such a pussy.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s been three days, Twitch. Three fucking days. Where the hell have you been?”

There’s a tense moment of silence. “Cleaning up your mess. Where else?”

It’s Tech’s turn to bite his tongue.

Twitch continues on, “How did they find us anyway?”

“The mom and boy next door.”

“What about them?”

Tech sighs, “They’ve been watching me all along.”

“Julia’s husband was fucking bait?”

Another sigh, “Yeah, and I fell for it.”

I should be mad at my best friend. I really should.

But Trace is wrapped tight around me, his face buried into my cleavage, the top of his head tucked safely under my chin. As the steady rhythm of his heart thrums through his ribcage and I feel his breath warm against my skin…